


Welcome to Kansas

by ComposerofDiscord



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 11:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16785850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComposerofDiscord/pseuds/ComposerofDiscord
Summary: Clark and Bruce have a rule in which Clark is only allowed to play country music once they've crossed the Kansas border. Well... Welcome to Kansas, Bruce!





	Welcome to Kansas

As soon as Clark learned how to fly, discovered what it felt like to have the wind whipping in his face, and dodging birds honking in annoyance, and plane engines roaring in his ears, he loved it. He loved all of it. However, recently he has come to enjoy driving too, especially when he had a particular brooding bat in the passenger seat.

Usually the bat insisted on driving himself. Clark swore he was trying to break the sound barrier with every rev of the engine; as much as Clark liked seeing Bruce’s more than pleased smirk at the sound of his purring car – in Kansas, Clark drives. Reasons being: A) Clark knows where he’s going, and sometimes Smallville didn’t have the best satellite signal for GPS. And B) Bruce was normally fashioning dark bags under his eyes, and hadn’t slept a wink on the plane ride. Since driving tired was worse than driving drunk, despite Bruce saying otherwise, Clark forcefully took hold of the steering wheel. . . and the radio, but for entirely different reasons.

You see, Clark wasn’t really certain what kind of genre of music Bruce liked to listen to. It was more so the man had a handful of different artists varying in genre and even language that the man would put up with. The only solid lead Clark had going so far was slow French jazz, but then something like Nirvana or Slipknot totally threw him off. Nonetheless, one thing was for certain, Bruce did not like country, whereas Clark did. He loved it.

What was wrong with country anyway? How could you resist the resonating hum from a steel strummed banjo, the warm vibrations of the harmonica, or even the slight country twang that might slip through? Country could be fast paced to match the morning routine of fielding, herding, and all the heavy lifting you wouldn’t want to do under the hot afternoon sun. While there were also nice and slow country songs for sitting on the back porch with a cold glass of lemonade, and watching fireflies dance around the person you cherished more than anything. Okay, so country songs were mostly sentimental, but isn’t that true for most genres? Apparently Bruce didn’t think so.

Said man currently had dark shades to cover his eyes from the harsh sun, and the window rolled down to keep cool. His lips were drawn somewhat thin - not in a stern or annoyed way, but in anticipation to be annoyed for very soon, the “Welcome to Kansas” sign would be passing them in no time. As soon as it did, Clark would blast country music. That was the deal: no country music unless we’re in Kansas.

Well, welcome to Kansas, Bruce!

_'Hillbillies love it in the hay!’_

Bruce’s grip on the armrest tightened, while the corners of his lips seemed to have sunken further in despair for the human race. Clark poorly hid his amused smile. Well to hell with Clark, Bruce mentally griped. He would tough it out. Sure he’d rather be knocking some poor thugs’ heads together, facing one of Riddler’s incessant puzzles, or even facing Bane than be in this particular car at this particular moment. But he gave his word, and like hell he was going to break it just because Clark found his suffering amusing. Why were they together again?

_‘Lay me down on a bed of gold  
Roll me round til the cows come home’_

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, really Clark?” Bruce looked incredulously over at said man, though the corner of his mouth curled up slightly in mirth. “I’m starting to think you picked the most stereotypical redneck country song just to piss me off.”

“Hey, I like this song.”

“No you don’t. No one in their right mind would like this song.”

“Actually many people like this song. It’s sung by Hot Apple Pie.”

Bruce paused to study Clark’s features for any hint of a lie, “I take that back. Of course you’d like this song.” Bruce continued to mutter under his breath about stupid big idiots, and their weird obsessions over apple pie.

_‘You and me just havin a ball  
That's a good thing that old mule can't talk’_

“Would it kill you to change the song?”

Clark refrained from rolling his eyes as he did so. “You know, from a guy born and raised in Jersey where the only clear channels you get are country and classical, you sure do hate country.”

“Who said I don’t like classical?” Bruce quipped much to Clark’s amusement.

“I stand corrected then, and since we’re on the subject, what do you like to listen to?”

Bruce shrugged, “Good music.”

“And that would be?”

“Anything that doesn’t give me a headache.”

“Right…” Clark refrained from banging his head against the steering wheel, and going by Bruce’s shadow of a smirk, the Bat knew it. Damn him. Clark could never get a straight answer when it came to personal questions with Bruce. He always felt like he was playing twenty questions when he did, and even by the twentieth question, Clark still wouldn’t have shed any light on the original overarching question to begin with.

_‘The way you look, the way you laugh,_  
The way you love with all you have,  
There ain't nothing bout you that don't do something for me’

“Are all of these love songs?”

“Oh, I forgot you’re not the sentimental type.”

Bruce glared, “And who made you dinner last week?”

“You mean who burnt the chicken, and then decided to hell with everything, and re-plated pasta parmesan from the Italian restaurant around the block thinking I wouldn’t notice?” Clark’s grin widened as the silence between them lengthened. Clark: 1; The Bat: … Clark lost track, but he rarely won any verbal sparring when Bruce was his opponent. Although, he could have sworn he heard Bruce mutter under his breath, “It’s the thought that counts…”

Suddenly, like a flip of a switch, Bruce’s pout – and yes, Clark would call it a pout – had turned brooding as those dark brows furrowed in thought. This was never a good sign, or at least never after a small banter such as this. Clark steeled himself for the worst, fiddling mindlessly with the music for a bit until at last, Bruce spoke his mind.

“Kent, are you saying you use these _‘sentimental’_ country songs to set the mood?” Clark nearly slammed his foot down on the brake in shock to the sudden question.

“N-No.” Clark stammered, “Not all the time.”

Bruce’s pouting lips decidedly turned more devious after Clark’s little confession, “But you have used it to set the mood.”

“I mean…” Clark sank a little lower behind the steering wheel before muttering something under his breath.

“I’m sorry?” Bruce was having too much fun with this. “I couldn’t quite catch that.”

“I said, yes.” Clark repeated clearly. “Although I doubt it’d work for you.”

Bruce moved to say something. It was most likely on the lines of, try me, but then Bruce knew Clark certainly would try him – of all patience that is. Bruce’s mouth promptly shut into a thin line. He turned back to face the passenger window rather than see the expression Clark wore.

“It wouldn’t.”

Clark turned off the music. The rest of the drive was silent.

When they got to the farm, the topic was never mentioned. Clark’s Ma stepped off the porch to greet them and his Pa wasn’t far behind either.

“I’m so glad you could make it.” Martha held Clark’s face between her weathered palms like she did when he was a little boy. She then embraced Bruce as her son.

“Come inside. I’ve baked some apple pie for dessert.”

“Aw, Ma, I can’t wait.” Clark went to follow his mother inside only to pause when he realized Bruce hadn’t moved. “Are you coming?”

Bruce had been looking at the direction of the truck. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Whatever he was thinking, he didn’t share it. He hardly ever did, and Clark didn’t force him to. Instead, he offered him a small smile and reached for his hand. Bruce took it. Whatever happened in the car was behind them.

Or so Clark thought.

Bruce wasn’t one to simply let things go. Clark should have known better after the years they have been together, and yet Bruce never failed to surprise him. It was one of the many things Clark loved about Bruce.

So when the soft strum of a guitar filled the barn, and a hand was extended down to him, Clark took it without hesitation.

The cows could wait.

“May I have this dance?” Bruce asked.

Clark broke into a smile. “I thought you didn’t like country.”

“I don’t.” Bruce wrapped an arm around his waist. “But I do love a country boy.”

Clark laughed. Bruce wouldn’t be swayed by a sweet country melody, but Clark was different and Bruce took full advantage.

_‘And I'm gonna love you like nobody loves you_

_And I'll earn your trust making memories of us’_

Clark leaned in close. His hand rested on Bruce’s shoulder as they slowly swayed to the song.

Making memories of us… yes, Clark would remember this. He would hold onto this moment, as he did with all the times Bruce had surprised him before, and the times Bruce will most likely surprise him again in the future – he would hold onto this memory for as long as he lived.

“I love you too, Bruce.” _‘Thank you for this memory of us.’_

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading if you've gotten this far! I'm so happy to get this out of my WIP folder. It's more than two years old so I'm sorry if the writing style seems to change towards the end. Nonetheless, thanks again for reading and take care!  
> Featured Songs (in order of appearance):  
> "Hillbillies" by Hot Apple Pie  
> "Ain't Nothing 'Bout You" by Brooks & Dunn  
> "Making Memories of Us" by Keith Urban
> 
> P.S. I'm going by some of the comics which claim Gotham is a group of islands off the coast of New Jersey


End file.
